


a room full of my safest sounds

by snsk



Series: phan week [5]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, a day in the life, and cooking, be warned, like grocery shopping, rly it's just them doing rly domestic boring things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5249273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>day five: domestic fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	a room full of my safest sounds

You slide your glasses on, yawn, push the blankets back. And then you give one of Susan's leaves a little pat and venture forth down the hallway. 

"You up?" you call.

"Either that or this sleepwalking habit is becoming very dangerous," Dan tells you from the kitchen. There is bacon sizzling on the stove. A pot of coffee sits on the counter, freshly brewed.

"You're just up awfully early for someone who slept later than me," you say, and lean against the counter bearing the coffee. You rummage in the cupboard. "Is it a special occasion?"

"No," he says, "and excuse me - why does my waking up early call for such suspicion, Phil?"

 _"Well,"_ is all you say, sipping from your Tweety mug.

"You shush," he tells you. "Maybe I've turned over a new leaf. Maybe before you start doubling over with laughter you can take one, I think they're about done."

He hands you the spatula. You take a rash of bacon and pour him some coffee. "Brother's Conflict?" you ask.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Get it set up, go on." He drums his knuckles on your shoulderblade, his way of shooing you out of the kitchen.

 

"Dish cleaner," you say after you've both finished the washing up, "and also batteries. Dan, are you taking this down?"

"Mhm," he says, but he's probably playing Subway Surf. He'll jot it down later and most likely forget half the items you're mentioning. You take out your own phone.

"What did you say?" he asks you ten minutes later, having finally looked up from whatever level he's on.

"Hmph."

"This game is engrossing," he says, his version of an apology. "I promise I will take down all future shopping lists very attentively."

"Yeah, yeah," you say, rolling your eyes at him.

"That's what you're here for," he says. "To jot down all my forgotten groceries." You can't tell whether he's being a metaphorical Dan Howell version of romantic. It's not like he'll ever admit to it. "Did you remember the batteries? The clock's out."

"'Course I did. While you were busy surfing down your busy pixelated subway." He grimaces at you. You grin at him.

 

The store's weirdly empty for the weekend.

"Probably sleeping in," Dan says, in answer to the question you didn't actually voice. "It's a nice drizzly Sunday morning, I don't know why we're out here, actually. We could be under the covers right now, nice mugs of hot tea."

He grabs a box of some fancy exotic mango-flavoured tea in retaliation for this cruel twist of fate. Then he squints, grimaces at the price, puts it back. He spends on spiffy designer clothes and limited editions of his fave series, you're the one who spends on unnecessary household items. It works out in a complain-about-the-other's-latest-ridiculous-purchase, check and balance sort of way.

"Let's change our dish cleaner scent," you suggest as you walk down the aisle.

"I thought there was only one scent," he says. "Lemon. Do people even buy different dish cleaner scents?"

"There's Orange," you say, pointing. "Lemongrass. Apple."

"Let's get something really unusual." He snatches Blue Ocean off the shelf. "Hey? Hey."

"Or we could mix. Lemongrass Ocean Citrus Breeze."

"Nobody's ever gonna wanna eat at our place again," he tells you. "That would spoil their palette completely."

 

At the checkout counter, Dan's so busy debating with you over whether the ends of the fancy houseplant fertilizer justify the price tag of the means that neither of you notice the cashier staring at you both.

You clear your throat to stop Dan mid-sentence. "Hi," you say, smiling at the cashier, whose name tag reads Erin.

"Hi," Erin says, smiling back, "is it really you two? Am I dreaming?"

Dan's slipped straight into professionalism. "I hope your dreams involve something better than Phil's expensive taste in gardening," he says, jerking a thumb in your direction and shaking his head. Erin laughs and asks for a picture. He does his thumbs up sign. Outside in the drizzle, you ask him whether it's a sickness, whether you should be seeking help.

"You don't have to be so _hurtful,_ Phil," he says, swinging his shopping bag into your side. Then he laughs, suddenly, comes close and nuzzles his nose into your shoulder for a beat. You're barely out of sight of Erin and the store. Dan doesn't look like he really cares, so the both of you continue on home.

 

He gets the blankets, and you both settle into the sofa with your laptops and teas. He crawls out a moment later to get you both chocolate. "I think we'll have chicken later. That sound good? Damn, I think I forgot to buy butter."

"You're being very productive and oddly nice," you say, accepting the bar.

"Am I not allowed to be?" he asks you.

"Is it a special occasion I've forgotten?" you ask. "Just - I mean. Tell me, for my own peace of mind."

Dan is a monolith of stuff you have to chisel at to get to. Dan is a terrible romantic hiding behind cynical remarks and existential crises. Dan holds out until you say "Dan," and hold his gaze, and only then does he say "Fine, fine," and tell you that on this day six years ago you told your family about him.

"I don't even remember," you say. "When I did it. What the date was."

"It's a dumb thing to remember." He shrugs.

"Oh, Dan," you say. "You're really sappy."

"I know," he says. "It's a real tragedy."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," you assure him. He grins at you, and you both go back to browsing. Five minutes later, you send him a tumblr message that says: _i've never regretted it. even tho they now love you more than me. i love you xoxoxoxo how's that for sap_

He replies, sitting a few inches away from you, fire burning on a cold drizzly day in the home you live in, the home you've made together: _v sap. much appreciate_

 

Later, Dan cooks chicken wrapped in parma ham and you have dinner while listening to the new 1D album, Dan making so many comments that you've stolen half his plate when he's not looking. It's really good chicken. Then you wash up listening to the new Adele album. Dan has no criticism for this. 

You sit in the living room later, sketching out details for the next radio show. "Scrabble?" Dan asks eventually, because he's stuck and has been doing nothing but changing fonts for the last fifteen minutes. 

"I hope you know it's long due a win for me," you say. "Just by the simple math of probability. So be prepared to lose by a landslide."

He wins, but hey, it's close. You brush your teeth together, listening to the new Bieber album. Dan goes off on a tangent on Justin's music vs his public persona all the way into bed. You pull the blankets up over you and him, take off your glasses. Dan pushes his stockinged feet up against your legs.

It's been a good day, one of many. Dan curls himself around you, a large warm beloved octopus. And you sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> wow im late today. anyway TMR shower sex fckuk!!


End file.
